


Smolder

by Hesiod



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/F, Joniss - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 04:57:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2760464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hesiod/pseuds/Hesiod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But maybe because there's an old comfort there in Johanna Mason, maybe because there's something deep and burning in her eyes, I don't say a single word or ask a single question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time we fucked, I think she was just horny.

It was in District 12, years after the rebellion, years after everything was burnt to ash and then rebuilt from the rubble. Peeta and his new wife were having a housewarming party. Not in that god forsaken victor's house (well,  _I_  still lived in mine, and Haymitch still lived in his; but him and I never really did move on the way Peeta did). It's a new place, a quaint little home past the border where the fence used to be. He didn't like to be in the town. I don't either, but somehow I can't bring myself to leave.

So.

Peeta has a house warming party.

He's invited more people than can fit in the damn place, and baked more goods than anyone there could possibly eat. It's excess really, but he must've been excited. I make my appearance, as does Haymitch; Beetee was invited but doesn't show . . .  _but guess who does_? Johanna fucking Mason.

Of all the people; of all the fucked up, broken people who don't have a sentimental bone left in their body, Johanna Mason shows up to a housewarming party for Peeta the bread boy.

So that's something.

I don't talk to her much. Everyone knows to leave me alone, but she doesn't. She scopes me out while I'm leaning against the wall in the living room, nursing a drink that I don't intend on drinking. She looks better. Better than her shaved head, morphling-addled self I left in District 13 years ago. I stay long enough for her to say "It's been a while, brainless," with that signature smirk and crossed-arms arrogance, as if the years hadn't dulled her down one bit - and then I'm out of there.

Some of it is shame. Because I never really did make an effort to check up on her. I left her in 13 like I left the others, and I never looked back. It doesn't help that Finnick might have been her only friend, and maybe, maybe a small part of me felt obligated to give her my condolences. Except I didn't.

Some of it is embarrassment. Because Peeta got fucked harder than most of us, but he seems to be the only one who could pick it up and make something of his life. Find things to make him happy. In that way, him and I have always been different. I don't think anything in this world could make me happy again. So good for him.

When I retreat back into my house in the Victor's Village, the sun has only just set. It's early, but I couldn't stay at that party the same way I had to rip the rosebushes out of my garden on my first night back. Some things I can't deal with. Some things burn slowly and deeply, and they never quite go away.

It's much later when I get the knock on my door. Maybe 11. I'd fallen asleep on the couch, so who really knows. The knock happens again, a little more insistent - like they know I'm home and they know I'm ignoring them. The only person who would show up here and at this time would be Haymitch, so I call out for him to come in very much intending to tell him to leave.

As soon as I hear the door swing open and shut, I know it's not Haymitch. There's no surge of slurred words or trudging footsteps. I lift my head just a fraction to curiously look at Johanna Mason walking through my house and towards me as if she has every assurance that she owns the place. In all honesty, she can have it. She can probably have anything she wants with that attitude.

"You're not Haymitch," I manage to say, when she's standing in front of me and I get my jaw to finally fucking unclench.

"Lucky for you," she drawls, and she has that look in her eye that's vaguely familiar - that look that says she knows way more than you think, she can do way more than you could hope, and maybe, just maybe -

She grabs the bottom of her shirt and pulls it off over head in one swift motion. Whatever train of thought I had is scattered and suddenly it's like I'm in the elevator at the Tribute Center, meeting her for the first time again. My mouth hangs open because why is Mason undressing and if she wants a reaction out of me, I can't fucking help it and I definitely give her one. It doesn't matter anyway, because in the next moment she's already on top of me, straddling and shirtless, and her free hand is unclasping the button on her jeans. And then - yes, I know where this is going; and no, she doesn't seem to think I mind. Though I do mind. Sort of.

But maybe because there's an old comfort there in Johanna Mason, maybe because there's something deep and burning in her eyes, I don't say a single word or ask a single question. I just let her fuck me hard.

I let her touch me however she wants, I let her draw her own name from my lips, I kiss her back, slow and deep. There's a manic pounding in my chest and it feels like a heart attack and it feels like excitement, but that can't be right because I haven't been excited about anything in years and I don't even  _like_  the girl. But I like what we're doing.

She gets me to touch her back. Guides me through it. Places my hands on her breasts, moves my mouth to her neck. She wets my fingers before urging me to put them in her. I'm a fast enough learner. She comes. Often.

When we're both spent and sweaty and breathless, and I'm dead tired or maybe just dead, she untangles herself from my arms and gets dressed again. I watch her through half open lids. At part of me almost gets up just so I can see her to the door, but I'm planted, reduced to inertia.

She seems happy with our foray, a satisfied little smirk to go with the messiest, most attractive looking after-sex hair I've ever seen. I should say something, but I don't. Can't. I just watch. She's in no rush, although soon enough all her clothes are back on and she's heading out of my living room.

"We should do this again sometime," she say in that singsong, smug little way that she does, and it sounds like an echo of a different life entirely. She's gone as quick as she came, and if anything's certain, the room suddenly feels emptier than it has in years.

I don't have the motivation to go lock the door. No one would come in, anyway. Instead, I close my eyes and go back to sleep, the taste of Johanna Mason still tingling on my lips.


	2. Seven

The second time we fuck, it's me that goes to her.

It's something in the pit of my stomach. Something small but fervent, smoldering like a coal in the depths of me.  _Something_. Because in 12, I'm dead. Ever since the Capitol was overthrown, I haven't been able to feel a damn thing. I watched Peeta grow away from me and to another woman, Haymitch drink himself into isolation, my town rebuild itself into something that I can't bear to be a part of - and felt nothing.

Then, Johanna fucking Mason comes out of nowhere and makes me  _feel_  again. It's physical, but it's  _something_. And I'm drawn towards it like a rabbit to a snare.

"You're depressed," Haymitch says to me one day. He checks up on me from time to time. Don't know what for. Never ask.

I want to counter with  _'you're drunk_ '; but he's always drunk and there's really no bite or brawn to it. "So?" I say instead. We all are, in our own ways.

"You should do something," Haymitch replies. He rubs his chin like he's thinking, like somewhere through the fog in his mind there are wheels turning. He wants to help me. What he doesn't understand is that when a teenager becomes the leader of a rebellion, loses absolutely everything that has a piece of their heart and then has to live with it - there's no coming back. Not from something like that. "Pick up a hobby. Try something new," he finally says. "Maybe you could travel. The districts are different now. You might like a change of pace."

"Maybe," I say. Not because I'm considering it, but because he's trying to help and I'd rather he not. He nods, picks up his flask, and raises it to me in a one-sided toast.

"It'd be a shame," he says, finger tapping on the side of his flask. He takes a swig, contemplates another one. His brows furrow like his thoughts are unpleasant. "It'd be a shame for us to have fought so hard for freedom, and then not be able to enjoy it. It'd be a shame," he pauses. Burps, because he's so drunk. "If Snow still had that power over us. Shouldn't we try to be better than that?"

I look at him and my chest tightens painfully - because somehow, I can imagine Prim saying the exact same thing.

xxx

I wait four months. I wait until I can't bear it any longer, until the days that used to pass quickly and quietly became something slow and aching. I swallow down my pride and walk myself to Peeta's new home, and ask him how he got into contact with Johanna. He gives me the most curious look and a sideways smile, like he might just  _know_. But he also gives me an address.

Seven. Of course she's in 7. Is it completely desperate to take a six hour train ride and show up at the house of the girl you fucked that one time after that one party, that you _still_  can't stop thinking about?

Yeah, it's desperate. But it's Johanna Mason and I doubt she'd give a damn.

I'm on the train and it reminds me too much of the Games. Effy, shrieking that the table is mahogany. Haymitch, telling us we're probably going to die. Peeta, running to my room when I can't stop the nightmares from making me scream. I almost get off at 4, just so I don't have to go through with it. Make up the excuse that I went to go visit my mother. But she hasn't come visit me since two years ago, and that's when we decided it wasn't a good idea. We remind each other too much of Prim.

I think these sort of thoughts the entire train ride there. I've only been to 7 once and it had been raining at the time. Now, it was sunny out in a too-bright, too-friendly sort of way. The landscape is so beautiful it's almost like I shouldn't be here. I'm glad the Capitol didn't blow it up.

I think these thoughts when I hop off the platform, pull out a map, and wave down a cab.

I'm thinking these thoughts when I'm standing in front of a large wood cabin, knocking on the door and hoping to god or whoever else is up there that I can speak a coherent sentence when or if it opens. I hope it doesn't open. I'm too nervous and this is silly. This is insane. This is -

The door opens and I feel my breath hitch. I'm face to face with Johanna and she doesn't even have the decency to look surprised.

"Took you long enough," she says, a small smile playing at her lips. She pushes the door open and lets me in, starts away without letting me respond. I follow her to the kitchen and something manic thumps against my ribcage. I look around. The cabin's homey and spacious, most things made of wood. The furniture has the fineness of being handcrafted, delicate. I'd never imagined what home would look like for someone like Johanna, but she fits right in and I'm glad she had something to go  _back_  to.

"What, were you expecting me?" I ask, tentatively putting a hand on the marble counter. I hadn't told anyone I was coming.

She just gives me a look. A look that says ' _I'm not the type of girl you sleep with, then forget about_ '; ' _I'm not just anyone_ '. And she's not. She's good. Attractive. Too good and too attractive for someone like me. Her personality screams in the face of what mine's become, and I'm really just nothing in the wake of it. She must know I know that.

"Do you want something to drink?" Johanna asks, opening the cupboards and taking out a mug. She turns the kettle on.

"No thanks," I say. I bite my lip. How can she be so casual? Like I'm a neighbor who's dropped by for a visit. Like the last time we saw each other we weren't pressed impossibly close, breathing each others' names. "Listen," I start, because if I don't say it now, I never will. "I came here because -"

"I know," Johanna says, waving it off. I pause, waiting for her to say whatever it is she's about to say. But she doesn't. She puts down the cup while the water boils, coming over to me. She comes too close. She puts a hand on either side of the counter, effectively trapping me in the middle. And then there's that smirk. Because she knows why I'm here and she's up for anything, can do anything. I swallow.

It's like the first night all over again. She's all over me in an instant, hands riding up my shirt, mouth moving against mine. I don't say a single word, I just kiss her back like something about me is on  _fire_. I haven't been in her house for five minutes and she already has me gasping her name before she even has my clothes off. She does whatever I ask her. She likes when I beg. When I tell her I can't take it any longer and I absolutely fucking need her, she just wraps her hands under my thighs, lifts me up onto the counter, and fucks me in the kitchen.

She starts slow, completely at ease. Like she's done this before a million times over. Maybe she has. It's the opposite of me, all nerves and curled toes and she's going down on me on a tabletop that's meant for preparing food and it's so damn  _scandalous_. My fingers tangle in her hair and I've never been a moaner, but I'm definitely moaning now. Loud. Frequent. I can tell she likes it. When I'm finished, she just pulls me into a sitting position, closer to the edge, presses our foreheads together and fucks me with her fingers. She fucks me so hard I get lost in her. I could get lost in her for hours. Days.

We hurt each other. I can't help it. I tear my nails down her back, I bite her shoulder, her bottom lip. When she has me flat on my back again, she's pinning my hands above my head with so much force I know my wrists are going to bruise. I don't care. She can take me however she wants. She can have all of me, because all I know in that moment is Johanna, and I can't think a single other thought.

She raises me up and tears me down again. Brings me to the edge and then pushes me over. She does everything. I forget everything. Her touch is fire, she sets me aflame. By the end of it I'm trembling, lips a quivering mess. She smiles something wicked, leans down and nudges me with her nose.

"Welcome to Seven," she says, and her voice is rasp. I blink myself down from the high and then I actually laugh. I'm still embarrassed. I'm shaking like a leaf. She chuckles and kisses me softly, stirring me back to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second installment to whatever this is lol. Got one more to post to wrap it up.
> 
> Enjoy :)

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this last night, writhing around in my bed because I'm so sick. :(
> 
> I wanted to kinda sorta explore Katniss' depression the years after the rebellion, but it turned into Joniss femslash, obviously. Lol. So whatever, hope you enjoyed.
> 
> I have two other small installments to add to this that I'll post later.


End file.
